


Quite Real

by katya1828



Series: Reunited: Deckerstar Moments [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Lucifer Returns From Hell, POV Chloe Decker, Post-Devil Face Reveal to Chloe Decker, Post-Season/Series 04, Romance, Sex, Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-09
Updated: 2020-05-09
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:59:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24093223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katya1828/pseuds/katya1828
Summary: Chloe’s POV of the Deckerstar reunion described in Homecoming (the previous fic in the series) carrying on into even mushier, romantic realms…  Hope some of you enjoy. Probably just about makes sense without reading the others.This was the original prompt, from Zan on Twitter: Lucifer arrives back from hell… and discovers Chloe curled up sleeping on the coach. She’s wearing one of his shirts and an empty bottle of wine on the floor. She’s shivering and looks like she’s been crying.
Relationships: Chloe Decker & Lucifer Morningstar, Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Reunited: Deckerstar Moments [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1722013
Comments: 8
Kudos: 127





	Quite Real

She falls asleep on the sofa in his penthouse, her head heavy with wine. She dreams the dream she’s suffered a thousand times, of that night he’d left her.

He’s standing before her on the balcony, backlit by the stars and the city night, and he’s all hers at last. She understands everything about him; he loves her and her heart is his, so very completely. The yearning in his eyes is an echo of her own… but mired in grief, and in the glisten of tears.

_They must have a King._

His heart is breaking, and hers shatters with it. She’s sinking into an airless abyss. She can’t scream, she can’t even breathe; no bodily pain assaults her, yet her torment is unbearable. His words resound through her head like a death knell, eviscerating her every time.

_They must have a King._

And then it’s over. He’s gone to Hell, and she’s cold and shivering and lost without him. The saltwater of her tears seeps into her slumbers, but in the end, oblivion offers solace. She thinks and feels nothing.

Until a dry warmth grazes against her cheek, stirring the more bittersweet, bearable fragments of her yearning.

Her eyes flutter open… and yet, no. She must still be asleep, although she has wandered into a far better dream. She inhales sharply, and the beautiful, feral creature before her mimics her exactly. She blinks, and she laps up the sight of him.

Because it _is_ Lucifer. And yet it is not.

This isn’t the well-groomed playboy who left her what seems like a lifetime ago. In that nigh-forgotten former time, to see him like this might have scared her, though less strongly than her first reaction to his devil face had. How she regrets… no, she can’t dwell on that now. He’s smudged with dirt and blood, his hair is wild, his shirt is little more than a rag. A heady musk of fire and ash assaults her. He looks weary, older somehow, although still quite unaged.

The love in his eyes smoulders as ardently as it did when they parted. Heat spirals from the hand he’s rested so tenderly on her cheek.

“Are you real?” Her voice is so small, she half-fears he won’t hear her. Her fingers are shaking when she places them over his, as carefully as if he’s a bubble sure to burst.

He speaks very quietly too. “I believe I am.”

She’d never believed it could be this easy, this swift. The past and the future fall away, and that tight, painful knot of sorrow unravels in a rush. She’s never known such a surge of ecstasy, and when he offers a tentative smile, her happiness flourishes uncontrollably. And then he’s kissing her, so sweetly and deeply, smothering her icy solitude in his furnace-like heat. She’s clinging about his neck, and he’s sweeping her up in his arms and kissing her harder, kissing her ravenously, kissing all her burdens away.

_My first love was never Eve. It was you, Chloe… it always has been._

She’s never doubted his words, not since that beautiful and awful moment he’d uttered them. But so often she’s doubted herself. Even tonight, when she’d come here to the penthouse, to wait and hope once more. As she’d opened and poured the wine, she’d despaired for the thousandth time. She was only a human being. Little Chloe Decker. The mere notion of _him_ , so great, so terrible… how could _they_ ever _be_?

Now, her every misgiving vanishes. She’s melting in his arms, subsumed to this ineffably potent being, whose kiss speaks not only of his adoration, but of his _need_ for her—of the succour that, through the ludicrous and wonderful wiles of destiny, it seems only she can bring him.

When they break apart, her world reels giddily. She won’t rip her gaze from him, in case he disappears, but also because she’s adoring the view. Despite his unkempt state, he’s never been more handsome to her. They chat; he makes fun of her waiting for him, then he’s hungry to claim her lips again, and she’s keen to reciprocate, as if the wet heat of their kisses is galvanizing, sealing them together, an unbreakable bond.

This time, when they break apart, he puts her down on her bare feet. Although she’s been close to him many times before, the sheer height of him, looming over her, happily startles her anew. Perhaps… maybe… she’s never been as close as _this_ before.

He's breathing heavily, still fixing deep in her eyes. His hands lightly loop her waist, her fingertips skitter at the back of her neck, their lips draw close again… and it strikes her suddenly. This is it. There’s no reason in the world that they shouldn’t join together in the fullest sense. She’s had long enough to consider this, and she’s willing and she’s ready… and yet…

She’s sees her fear mirrored before her—no, magnified before her. The lustre in his eyes dims, and he furrows his brow. “Do you want to—”

“You want me to go?” Her garbled words are the offspring of panic. Though he scarce moves a muscle, she discerns a further change about him, as something deep inside him crumples.

“Well, of course, you must,” he is saying, and then he’s moving away from her, reaching for a whisky bottle, which she’d fortuitously left there. Some nights, wine hadn’t been enough. “You have a child. I’m sure your life has moved on, I’m sorry—"

It’s happening again. Those misunderstandings, those pinpricks of doubt. Those tiny fissures that become great gulfs between them. This time, she’s ready to counter them. She was sure about him when he left her, leaving her desolate on the balcony, and she’s surer than she’s ever been now.

“Lucifer, no! I was here waiting for you. I want to be with you… all of you. I love you completely, for everything you are.”

She takes his arm. He easily resists her efforts to pull him back toward her, and looks over his shoulder at her instead.

Stares back with his devil face. “I’m still the monster, Chloe.”

She wants to weep for him. Even now, with the truth of her lying there waiting for him—of her dying inside without him—he _still_ doubts himself. And his eyes... the colours might change, but his feelings remain naked in them.

Emboldened, she moves in, and takes his ravaged face in her hands. Her heart is so full she fears it might burst. “Then you’re still the man I fell in love with, Lucifer. Remember, I was never really afraid of you, I was afraid of losing you… and then, I lost you. And now you’re back, I want _all_ of you, Lucifer. I’ve never been surer of anything in my life.”

She kisses him, and they’re back where they were, before he left her so long ago.

He changes back during the kiss, but his eyes remain full of questions and a hint of fear, an emotion he’s rarely betrayed. She has to be the strong one now. She strokes the ragged stubble along his jawline with her thumbs.

“I love you, Lucifer. I’m yours, whether we make love tonight or not; whether I sleep here, or on the other side of the city. I’ll be there for you in the morning, and I’ll be there whenever you call. If you have leave again… then I’ll wait again. I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.”

He merely looks baffled. She can’t help but gently laugh, and a little of his fear seems to fade.

“Will you… stay with me tonight?” he asks.

She answers by tugging him down into yet another kiss. They barely break it, as he carries her up toward his bed, and she scarce feels the silken sheets when he lays her down upon them. Everywhere he touches her, the sensation is intense, so wonderfully too much and yet not enough either, not yet. Clothes are a barrier that they all too willingly rip away, without time or care for the niceties of seams or fastenings. And then he’s naked against her, and she’s exposed to the fire and the ash and the blood; the exquisite hardness of his flesh, and their shared craving for them to truly be as one.

He takes it slow, his exploration of her body sweet and tentative, while she becomes the wild one, abandoned and laughing, urging him on. Her hold about him is tight, bruising even, while he traces across her a featherlight map of pleasure, instinctually seeking the places she longs for him the most. She’s never felt so cherished, worshipped; and she’s never _needed_ so powerfully, because he’s already so deep inside her. She understands now; she comprehends everything. They’ve always been one.

When they make love, the tenderness of his gaze almost proves her undoing. She disintegrates, dissolves. They surrender as one to the fire and the blood, and the darkness of the universe before light and life were ever kindled. They move instinctually as the ocean, a single undulating wave, sharing that deep knowledge of oneness that words can never claim.

He says it all the same. “I love you, Chloe.”

She knows it. She _feels_ it, in the soft, almost idle kisses he lavishes on her lips and body; in the earth-shattering potency of his power, the flood and the heat, and the lingering, sublime ecstasy of it all.

He says it again, when they lie as a breathless, boneless heap in each other’s arms. “I love you, Chloe.”

“I know,” she says. “I know, darling.”

He flicks his tongue nervously over his lips. “I should’ve said it before. I don’t want you to think it was… just because we were having sex.”

She laughs, then leans over him and captures his lips—and that nervous tongue—in a playful nip. “I don’t think that. You’ve said it thousand times without words, I understand that now.”

_Every time you defended me. Every time you gave up your entire life for me. Every time you smiled at me… touched me… looked at me… were there for me. Even when neither of us understood it was true._

“You’re welcome to repeat it as many times as you like, though.”

He does. “I love you, Chloe. I love you.”

They roll over so he spoons behind her, and trails his fingers sensuously down her bare flank. “You really must be quite fond to share a bed with me right now. I look a wreck and I’ve made this place reek of Hell.”

She turns back and throws her arms around his neck, burying her nose against his chest and inhaling deeply. “You’re a little, uh, fiery. But it’s really quite pleasant.”

“I wouldn’t mind washing _off_ the fire,” he admits. “And applying the very fundamental basics of male grooming.”

A shower together. Now that sounds… nice. Domestic. The sort of thing she could get used to, if fate permits, for the rest of her days.

She tips her face to him, her cheek still happily squeezed against his pecs. “Want some help with that?”

He grins. “Detective! I thought you’d never ask,” and they rise together, and he lets her lead him away.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading :)


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